


A Game for Broken Things

by Misfit_Meraki



Series: The Man on the Bridges End [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cover Art, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Not Beta Read, Other, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Violence, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sequel, Therapy, mentioned self harm, mentioned suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misfit_Meraki/pseuds/Misfit_Meraki
Summary: [“Life is a game for broken things yet the shattered people never win.”]Connor is the best he can be. He has everything he could want from his life. A home, friends, a place to work- he finally found stability in his deviancy and his hunters name is slowly being left behind.Or so he thought.After a simple case spirals into the discovery of a dangerous virus, Connor and Hank need to work as quickly and quietly as possible before it’s too late.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: The Man on the Bridges End [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029969
Kudos: 12





	A Game for Broken Things

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel of “The Man of the Bridges End!” This story will not make sense without reading the last one as this is apart of a series! Be sure to check it out :))

Connor shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his hands still entwined with themselves as he shuffles against the hard leather chair. He takes a moment to feel the familiarity of the pastel green walls of the room, the pictures of his therapist's wife and children, and the shelves over-crowded with plants and basic porcelain decor. He fixes his hair while his ears follow the noise of the keys tapping on the keyboard across from him. The woman says nothing, as she usually does at the start of every session, and even though Connor knew it was a tactic for him to start the conversation first, he always waits in hopes he was being polite. 

Dr. Hamro was an interesting character to say the least, mostly meaning she was as blunt as she was kind. She held a very professional persona with her dressy pant suits and expensive appearing shoes, but she also seemed to be a very expressive individual with her long dangling earrings and her painted nails. Her nails were always different lengths, however, she appeared to be a nail biter from what he's gathered. 

Today her long brown hair was kept in a messy bun held together, just barely, by two large black clips. Her earrings matched her outfit, which he guessed to be intentional given that she hadn’t worn that jewelry before. He always kept track of the little things. He scanned it and confirmed it to be in near perfect condition. 

Her shoes were high heeled and shiny. They were coupled with solid black pants and a coat only buttoned in one place over a burgundy dress shirt. She must have something on her mind, her stress raging between thirty and forty percent.

Connor noticed the slight flinch of her lip, most likely a sign of her recognizing his scan from her peripheral. The redness of the glossed lip makeup smears against itself as she rubs them together while her sharp brown eyes remain on the computer screen.

After a full five minutes of silence, (he always presumed she was keeping track,) she turns her chair away from the computer on her desk with lean, a warm smile on her face. 

“Hello, Connor.” 

“Dr. Hamro.” He greets in return. He notices the slight up flick of an eye roll in her eyes but he makes no comment as she pulls herself forward, her hands now rested in a fold on her desk.

“How are we doing today, Connor?” She asks in her usual tone, one expecting a truthful answer. 

“Rather well I believe.” He replies curtly, taking a moment to adjust his button up. He feels embarrassed knowing that he hadn't had the time to iron it before arriving.

“What would you say is going ‘rather well?’” She asks in return. 

Connor smiles, “I’ve helped the Lieutenant prepare breakfast for himself these last few days, he believes my cooking has been improving.” He replies. “I’ve also made sure the plants are doing well which they still appear to be.”

“I’m glad to hear you're still involving yourself in new hobbies. I know you found much disappointment in other things.”

“Ah, yes. Art truly wasn’t meant for me. It really wasn't in my field of knowledge.”

“Having hobbies is more than ‘field knowledge,’ Connor. You weren’t made to keep plants or house fish, were you?”

“No.”

“I see you’re still struggling with self identity.” She points out, “I’d like that to be today's topic if that's agreeable to you.” 

Connor knew that Dr. Hamro wasn't one to force him to do things he didn’t want, but she did persistently push him out of his comfort zone. Noticing that he was drifting from the topic internally, she provides her activity. “Let's start with who you are. We did this exercise before if you remember, but i’d like to hear you speak it again now that you've made progress with yourself.”

“Right…” Connor clears his throat in an unnecessary act of stalling. 

Connor notices very small crumbs near the end of the opposite side of the desk. She must have had her lunch break not too long before he arrived. Her shirt wasn’t tucked all the way in, meaning she probably walked to the cafeteria in the large buildings left wing, causing it to stubbornly fall from the pants. Her stress levels are thirty two percent and stable-

Dr. Hamro continues to look at him expectantly, and finally, Connor gives in.

“My name is Connor. I was activated in August 2038. I was programmed to hunt deviants and report back to Cyberlife in their capture. I was meant to be a short term use model as there were many fail safes to ensure my success in stopping the revolution.”

Connor could see the upticks in her stress level. It always seems to increase when he reminds her of what he is _,_ though she never says anything. Connor doesn’t either. He’s unsure why, perhaps it just wouldn’t benefit anyone if he did.

“Yes. That is what you _were,_ but perhaps we should focus on what you are today.”

“Yes… My apologies.” 

“There is no reason to apologize.” She provides calmly. 

Connor doesn’t remember pulling out his coin, but he feels the grooves pressed between his forefinger and thumb. He strokes it idly. 

“My name is Connor. I live in a home in a middle class neighborhood with my friend and colleague, Lieutenant Hank Anderson. As of one month ago I have returned to the Detroit Police Department where I work with that same roommate as a detective on an android crimes unit. As of this moment I do not have a badge of my own. Although I am not personally close with the members of New Jericho I provide assistance when it is asked of me, even helping with basic negotiations with the current governor.”

“Very good, Connor.” She praises lightly. “I know before your answers were quite bitter and unsure.” 

Connor thinks back to his previous answers. He had hated that he was even seeing a therapist before now, so his answers had been very loose and angry. 

The Lieutenant had “forced” Markus into the idea that he needed therapy shortly after… _Events_ transpired so one was appointed to him, one that was being trained to handle psychiatric care for androids. Connor remembers the argument it spiked had been a rather nasty one between the two.

Connor hadn’t instantly forgiven Hank, of course. They spent many months in disputes, ones that had led to destruction on both sides, though they never laid hands on each other even in their worst moments. It only got worse when Connor was in the process of being repaired. 

His repair hadn't gone as smoothly as most would imagine. Because he was such a specific and one of a kind model it meant he could only use specific and one of a kind parts for himself, meaning most of his parts were constructed over varying parts in time. The process had been slow and agonizing. He hated being at New Jericho for repairs. He got many hateful looks that truly bit at his already diminished self esteem. He was not only a deviant hunter but he was also referred to as a programmed assassin after his little “glitch in the system.” He almost killed Markus that night back in January. Imagine almost killing a voice for a population...

It had not helped matters that whenever he was forced into stasis he was greeted by his handler, Amanda. Of course they were much better now with her deviancy, but they spent a lot of time in silence or in guilt fueled conversations of which one of them was more apologetic or angry. Even as bad as that was it was worse when she wasn't there at all, when his memories started to play back in loops as he rested. They always altered themselves in sick and cruel ways that caused him to wake up in frenzys and what Hamro called “panic attacks.”

He still struggles with stasis, with Hank, with New Jericho, but he likes to think that he's improved, if even a little. He struggles consistently with finding contentment in his routines, in his progress, and he despises that it is obvious to his shrink. 

“How are you doing this coming month?” She asks, her voice opposing any carefulness. “The liberation’s anniversary is coming up. I’m sure that must be very hard for you.”

“You’d think so, though I find that I am doing rather well despite that pressure. Hank and I managed through one of his traumatic anniversaries recently. Two more accurately. His son's birthday and his death. He hasn’t spoken much about it but we’ve bonded because of this, though I don’t think he’s doing as well as he could be.” 

Hamro's eyes flicked to Connor’s coin as he passes it between his hands. She used to offer him stress balls but he always broke them before they could be returned. She looks for eye contact and Connor provides a stoney hold through his chocolate pupils. 

“You don’t seem fine at all, Connor.” She states bluntly. “I believe this has caused you great amounts of stress and you’re using basic deflection topics hoping we can talk about the Lieutenant instead.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “You talk about him alot, but these sessions are not for him, Connor. They are for you.”

She leans back in her chair. “You seem to be close to the Lieutenant despite past events, but I do find some worry in myself for how much of your life surrounds him.”

Connor laughs but Hamro does not join in, “No, no, I just believe we work well together is all, we have since the beginning. He’s been generous to grant me a place to live and help me get my position at the DPD.”

“Connor, you know very well that I am not one to move around subjects that I believe deserve discussion, so I wish to speak more about this.” She looks off in an indiscernible direction as she speaks, “Hank has a history of inconsistency because of his losses, enough so that he abandoned you in fear and resentment, is this correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“He now has complete control of your life, as your houser, he's even your superior officer in your current position at the DPD. You feel in debt to him as he has given you a place to live, a place to work, an avenue of self discovery. He has made you depend on him completely, am I wrong?”

Connor opens his mouth to speak but she holds up a hand as she leans back into her desk. “With such a low salary you couldn’t possibly reside on your own. So he’s really all you have. The most unstable human you could possess is the most stable thing you’ve held on to. So my question is this,” she looks back into his eyes with a stern gaze. “What would you do if he left again? Whether this be him giving into the ideations you’ve mentioned or his general habit of falling through his responsibilities. What would you do?”

Connor finds that he has no answer. What would he do? Hank has really improved. He’s started therapy of his own, he's been going to AA meetings, he even makes an effort to do better in his work. He wouldn’t leave again, would he?

“In the beginning you had a deep fear that everyone around you would eventually leave, whether that meant they would die or just uproot you from their lifely routines. Now I find that you’ve switched to the other side of the coin. You’ve become greatly dependent. You wanted nothing to do with New Jericho but now you wish to go along with them as much as you can for their law discussions and leaderships. You wanted nothing more than to see Hank die when you met him again and now you don’t even know what you’d do if something were to happen to him. The Lieutenant is only getting older, and Jericho is only getting bigger.”

Connor says nothing as she continues. “I want to talk about the upcoming events in your life. What do you do that involves you?”

“I garden and keep fish.” He replies lamely. 

“Do you have friends outside of New Jericho's leaders or Lieutenant Anderson?”

“No.”

Hamro grabs a ball from her desk, leaning back deeply into her chair as she fiddles with the stress toy in her hand. “I find great fascination in android psychology. I know I've mentioned this many times but the way the brain works for deviants is much different from humans, but at the same time they are greatly similar.” 

Connor finds his eyes unfocused as he looks to a plant she keeps on the corner of her desk. It is a Zanzibar Gem, or Zamioculcadoideae. It is part of the Araceae family and the Plantae kingdom. It appears to be a juvenile as it’s still rather small. The plant can grow up to ten inches per year and-

Hamro tilts her head, trying to track his gaze. Connor sighs as he closes his scan. He wasn't expecting a deep session today, but even so he can’t find himself completely in the moment. Regardless, the woman continues.

“A child can be raised to think they live for one purpose. They can be forced into certain mindsets, specific activities, or scolded into exact ways of speech and posture. Eventually they’ll do one of two things, they’ll rebel and find themselves without their parents, or they will follow what is expected from them and live a life that isn’t theirs.” She looks to Connor as he shifts. “Deviants aren’t much different, they rebel or they follow. Some may work the same jobs they did when they were following their programming to avoid being uncomfortable, so that they may follow rules made just for them. It's control without control.”

“You aren’t suggesting this to be my path, are you?” Connor questions accusingly, much more than he was intending. 

“I may be but this is up to your interpretation.” She replies bluntly. “You’re following a rather similar pattern. You were Andersons android, you were the first ever android detective, and when you deviated you were the fifth figure of Jericho. You do not live outside those lines.” 

Hamro’s eyes look to the clock on the left of the wall, her features softening as she offers a sympathetic smile. 

“This is just something to think about. I believe you have progressed enough to hear that truth.” She rolls her chair back and prepares to stand and lead him out. “Support is good, Connor, but you can’t have a house without your own foundation. Without it the support is nothing. For your goal this week I want you to do something new, something on your own outside of the house or your work. We’ll talk about it next week, alright?”

“Yes… Thank you Dr. Hamro.”

“You’re welcome dear.” She says as she opens the door of her office. “You have a nice day.”

“You too.” Connor says as he walks into the hallway and towards the waiting room. His hand reaches for the inside of his pocket as he tucks the coin away, his fingers stroke it one last time before he releases it from his hands. He walks with his hands folded behind his back, a false confidence unveiled on his features. When he reaches the clear door to the waiting room he sees Hank sitting in a chair, slouched over much more than what is good for his back, especially considering his age, on his phone. Connor smiles as he opens the door.

Hank looks up, stuffing his phone into his coat pocket. “Hey! How did it go?” He asks. 

“It was good. Very insightful.” This wasn't a complete lie, because it wasn't insightful for him, but it apparently was for his clinician. 

“You ready to hit the road?” 

“Of course, Hank.”

Connor signs out before they head towards the door, making sure to schedule an appointment for the next week.

As they make their way to Hank's car Connor takes a moment to breathe the fresh air. He never liked how recycled it felt inside of that building. Even for him it was stuffy and near claustrophobic, not much different to an interrogation room. 

Therapy is much like interrogation on a fundamental level, except you pay to get answers forced out of you. At least the room is nicer.

They say nothing as they get into the car, Hank falling into his seat in his usual fashion before he haphazardly clicks his seat belt into place. He huffs out a sigh as he turns on the car, the engines purr becoming a roar as it comes to life.

As Hank pulls out their parking spot Connor finds his eyes haven't left the building in front of them. He tilts his head after a moment, his eyes instead following the window beside him as they pull onto the open road.

It hasn’t started to snow yet, though Hank warns it would be coming soon. Connor still has a great disdain for snow, the mere thought makes him shiver as he remembers the cold nights he spent on the streets. 

Hank must have noticed his LED change because soon after he clears his throat.

“So uh… How’d it go?” 

“I believe you’ve already asked me this question.” 

Hank rolls his eyes. “Yeah okay smart ass.” He pauses as he turns onto a new road, “-we were in a waiting room, I wasn’t really expecting a genuine answer from you. Thought I’d ask again, you know?” 

“It was fine, Lieutenant.” Connor finalizes.

“Mhm.” Hank mumbles in acknowledgment.

“Is there something the matter?” Connor asks, leaning over to see Hank’s face.

“Nah. Just thinking is all.” 

“Mind sharing with the class?” Connor snarks in an echo of Hank’s usual phrases.

Hank amuses him for a second before relaxing his shoulders and hands against the wheel. “That uh- anniversary party is coming up this week, you know- the one for the day the revolution succeeded.” 

Connor stiffens unknowingly as he trails his vision back to the front of the car.

“Yes. I’ve heard,” he acknowledges, “I’m surprised you find any interest in knowing about something like that.” 

Hank squints, “why wouldn’t I be? I mean- I live with an android, don’t I?”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean you’d have interests in our general affairs, Hank.” 

“Sure it does- but yeah that’s not the point,” Hank waves off. “I got a letter today. Didn’t get a chance to share it. We’re kinda like- invited? I know it’s an open house kinda thing but I guess we have like “special permissions” or whatever if we go.” 

“I hope you aren’t implying that your only reason for going is the open bar.” Connor says in immediate detection. 

“What?! Of course not. Con- I’ve been sober like, what? Three months now?” 

“Ninety seven days and counting.” 

“Yeah. Exactly. No it’s more like- Markus is offering the opportunity to give like- a speech.” The Lieutenant finally says. “I thought maybe you’d be interested. You’ve probably got a lot of shit to say about deviancy and growth.”

Connors eyes fall to the hands in his lap.

“I’m unsure if I’m fit for any position that involves me giving a speech.” He says plainly. 

“Sure ya are. You’re basically the unsung fifth member of that little leadership possy they got going on.” Hank says with a chuckle. “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted you to think about it. Do something new.”

“I appreciate the support, Hank, but I’m unsure if I even want to go. I haven’t had much communication with Markus past this summer. It’s been rather curt and short ended conversations that mostly include making sure I’m up to date on Jericho’s personal agendas.”

“Alright- I get it.” 

The air turns silent after his open ended pause. Connor reaches for his pocket and rubs his thumb over his coin quietly. 

The second half of the drive is mostly quiet until Connor tries to relieve the tension.

“I’ll give the idea some thought.” 

Connor sees Hank smile from the corner of his vision, though he quickly falls back into his neutral features. “I’m sorry if I seem like I’m forcing you into shit. Don’t mean to, you know? Just want you to explore new shit, maybe make some friends.” 

“Understandable.” He says in a balanced tone. “Why would you like to go?”

“To be honest I really don’t. I used to go to parties for booze mostly, and being an enemy to most of the androids there doesn’t seem all that appealing. But… If you do decide to make a speech alongside some of the people chosen to do so I’d like to be there to see it.” 

Connor smiles. “I’m grateful for your support, Lieutenant.” 

Hank audibly rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Con, it’s Hank. We aren’t at work- I ain’t your colleague or whatever the fuck right now.” 

“Whatever you say, _Lieutenant.”_

“Keep it up Con, I’ll make you walk the rest of the way home.” 

“The statistical probability of that is very low.” 

“Want me to raise it?” 

“It’s lowered just now actually, but sure, do try.” He remarks. “Even if you did we are only a few blocks away from your house. My model doesn’t tire easily so you wouldn’t bind much satisfaction if you were to theoretically follow through.” 

“God I hate you sometimes.” Hank jokes as they pull into their neighborhood.

“Likewise.” Connor finalizes with a smirk.

Hank shakes his head while Connor silently amuses himself. 

Soon enough they’re pulling into the driveway and Hank is unlocking the door to the house. Connor follows him in and is immediately greeted to an almost two hundred pound ball of excitement scratching at his pants and jumping around him and his owner. Hank immediately orders the dog to sit, though he doesn’t follow his direction.

“Damn it, Sumo- if you piss because of all this excitement I’m gonna be so mad-“

Connor doesn’t prepare any scoldings for the dogs behavior as he gives in and rapidly pets the dog, cooing quietly to him. Hank gives him his usual glare, and Connor knows damn well it’s because he’s been nothing but an enabler for the dog's actions. 

“Outside?” Connor finally asks the dog. Sumo perks his ears as he suddenly tries running past Connor and out the door. Connor is much faster than him however, already grabbing his collar while pulling the extending leash from the wall so that he may roam the yard. 

Hank heads to the kitchen almost immediately, reaching in the fridge for a can of pop. He pops it open loudly before chugging half the tin container. 

Connor used to be annoyed with his beer replacement being pure sugar in a can, but he knew that anything was better than the alcohol he used to heavily indulge himself with.

Connor heads to the kitchen, leaning himself against the table. 

“Any plans for today?” Hank asks. 

“Not sure. I know we have movies planned for tonight.” 

“Ah, almost forgot about that.” 

Connor smirks. “I’m sure.” 

Hank makes no comment as he crosses into the living room. 

“I think I’m gonna nap or something. I’m not really feeling the usual routine of wasting our day off.” 

“Understandable. I know you haven’t had many as of late.” Connor affirms.

Hank was usually at work for most of the days Connor was at home. Hank always feared leaving Connor, even threatening to call some kind of babysitter, but even so he still left and worked anywhere from ten to fifteen hours. 

Hank was currently the only member other than Connor to be working the android crimes unit. Not much funding went into their department so it often left not only Hank, but now Connor with a complete overload of files and cases. 

“I’ll see you in a bit then.” Hank says during a stretch, already heading to his room. 

“Alright. Sleep well, Hank.” 

Hank raises a hand to wave him off as he enters his room. 

Connor stands alone in the kitchen, already feeling completely unproductive. He walks to the front door and lets stubborn Sumo back into the house before he decides to head to his own room.

They both use the word “room” lightly, mostly given that it was just the garage that they slightly renovated into a habitable living space. Hank ensures Connor that him resting there was fine, especially since he never parks his car in there anyways.

Connor opens the door, and not too surprisingly, Sumo follows close behind.

The room he made for himself wasn’t exactly vibrantly decorated, but rather empty if not including the small five gallon aquarium and his sparsely selected plants. He does have a painting Markus had gifted him, though he hasn’t had the chance to hang it. His twin bed holds a single pillow and blanket that Hank insistently proclaims he needed, and a solid black nightstand that had nothing but an old beat up lamp and a small bunny toy that Hank dared not to question.

Connor sat on his bed, eying the fish tank that sat vertically to the bed. His betta fish had been doing well, he supposed. He was already fed today so Connor didn’t need to provide anymore attention to the small fish behind the glass.

His room was already as clean as it could get, and at that moment Connor almost despises that point as he lays back in his bed, trying to get “comfortable” when he attempts to sink into his thoughts. Not much comes to him when not too soon after he falls into an involuntary stasis, arriving back into the palace where he could spend his time. 

He smiles as he walks past a familiar stone with a gentle touch, ready to greet the figure standing by a rosed fence at the mid path of the garden. 

“Hello, Amanda.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join the “The Man on the Bridges End” discord! https://discord.gg/u6jMBaT
> 
> The first chapter of many! I've really improved as a writer since the start of tmotbe so this story won't be a copy of it in the slightest. There will be more characters, more dialogue, and even a mystery plot! Stay tuned for more from this series :))


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